


A Cornish Case

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Dark Mycroft, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Merlock, Mermaids, Merman John, Merpeople, Porn, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sherlock, Slash, Smut, donovans a twat as per, implied omegaverse, mer!lock, mermaid!, merman, porn with lots of plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy AU Johns a merman. Sherlock is on a case in Cornwall when he finds and injured merman lying, near dead, on the beach after a storm. Why is he there? Does it have anything to do with the case he is trying to solve? Could the merman know something about the missing people? What will Sherlock do when he realises that he cant go back to life without John. A life without a friend.</p>
<p>I was trying really hard to find a fic like this so I thought, you know what? I'll just write one. I don't fic often so sorry for any mistakes that may have been made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cornwall

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlocks the same old Sherlock. accept possibly a bit nicer and more compassionate. I chose Cornwall as a setting as if has a lot of legends of mer-people and sea creatures and is also somewhere close to where I live and one of my favourite places on the planet. most of the places i write about will be real. the beach is a place called penvounder if you are interested. i noticed benedict had a tendancy to twiddle things so I worked that in. comments very welcome. kudos = very happy me. I will try to update regularly. :) hope you like.

Sherlock sat on the Cornish cliffs staring broodily out to sea. It was grey and stormy, a precise correlation with his mood, he reflected dryly. The waves crashed on the rocks around the headland sending large explosions of spray metres into the air, and pounded on the white sandy beach not far below.

This place had long been sacred to him as a place of refuge for whenever Mycroft became too much. The only place in the world where he could just sit and think, undisturbed by idiots. He hadn’t been here for years. He lived alone in London now but the family holiday home still remained his to use whenever he pleased. He sighed, frustrated. It was only by chance he was here at all. He was on a case, a good one at that. It was mentally challenging and intriguing, all those people going missing without a trace. He stood up to leave giving his phone an absent minded flip in his hand. It twirled, avoided his waiting palm, bounced once on the edge of the ledge he was standing on, then sailed neatly down the side of the cliff face and landed in the sand twenty odd feet below. Sherlock cursed loudly into the wind and began the familiar decent down the beach, relying on old memories to guide him. He jumped the last couple of feet and landed gracefully on the sand. The tide was high and quite close to the base of the cliff. Another hour or so and it would hit the rocks. He bent down and scooped up his phone, frowning as he blew the sand off it and noted the large crack in the screen. He was just about to turn around and begin his accent up the slippery cliff face when he heard a pained groan behind him. 

Surprised he span around, attempting to pinpoint the sound. A man lay with his body half in and half out of the water, he looked almost unconscious, and wounded going by the way he lay. Sherlock sprinted as to the water’s edge and splashed into the shallows. He was just about to drag him out of the surf when he saw something that made him question the world he lived in and stop dead. The man had no legs. He had a tail.

He froze staring at the large glittering golden fish tail which lay in place of the man’s legs. The scales of his tail blended smoothly into his upper half which was devoid of clothing exposing strong muscles under bruised and scratched skin. Blood poured from a deep wound on his left shoulder and stained the water around him red with blood. His face was serene in unconsciousness, as if he were sleeping. Short sandy hair plastered to his forehead and gashes on his neck, which he presumed were gills, fluttered sporadically in the air. His chest rose and fell shallowly. Sherlock knew he would die if he left him here. He made a decision. He bent down and hooked his arms under the mermans armpits and began to drag him towards the beach. His skin was incredibly slippery to the touch and Sherlock could feel small silky scales on his skin. It was difficult to keep a purchase on him. Once at the beach Sherlock laid him down gently on the sand trying to decide on his next course of action. He obviously couldn't get him up the cliff so he would have to take the longer touristy path back to his house. The man was very small, probably about 5’6 if he was human and didn’t weigh that much so it shouldn’t be too difficult to carry him. He shrugged off his big coat and put the merman in it, tying his scarf round his chest in an effort to staunch the bleeding. He scooped him up in a way in which one might carry their lover or small child and began the long walk up the coast path, across a couple of fields to his house.


	2. John

By the time he made it home Sherlock was drenched, covered in blood, mud and cow shit. He laid the man down on the floor and ran to get the first aid kit. Just as he grabbed it he heard a pained howl from the other room. Sprinting back to where he left him he saw the merman had regained consciousness and had tried to sit up but had been brought short by the wound in his shoulder. He now lay flat on his back, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling with silver tears cascading down his beautiful face. His head snapped up when he heard Sherlock enter and he attempted to back away from him, surprisingly pointy teeth barred and a terror in eyes blue as the depths of the ocean.

“Where am I?” His voice had a strange lilt to it, slightly gruff from lack of use under the sea. His eyes darted around the room trying to take in his surroundings.

“You are in my house, in Cornwall.” Answered Sherlock.

“How did I get here?” He had stopped crying now but the terrified look never left his face.

“I brought you here. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I found you on the beach, you are severely injured.”

Sherlock took a step forward. The merman flinched away from him and hissed like a feral animal, once again showing his sharp teeth. Sherlock sighed impatiently.

“What is your name?”

“My name is John.” hissed the creature, intelligent blue eyes never once leaving Sherlock’s face.

John. What a dull name for such a beautiful and fascinating creature.

“Well John I do not want to harm you I only wish to help you. You aren’t going to live very long if you don’t let me bandage your wounds with the amount of blood you are losing.”

John glanced down at his chest. Sherlock’s scarf was soaked in his blood, as was his coat. There was too much truth in his words for him to ignore. His face lost the defensive anger and most of the terror that had possessed it and he slumped onto the floor. Sherlock took that as permission and knelt next to him, untying his scarf from around his chest and slipping John’s arms from out of his coat, laying him gently on top of it instead. He inspected the wound. It was even worse than he had originally thought and as much as he may know about wounds and the biology of the body he wasn’t really any good at treating them. He decided the best thing to do would be to clean the wound, bandage it up as best he could and hope that would be enough.

“I’m going to have to clean your wound now John, its going to hurt.” Stated Sherlock.  
John nodded and his small webbed hand gripped tightly on to Sherlock’s coat beneath him. Cautiously Sherlock dabbed at the wound, stopping when the antibacterial cream on the rag caused John to arch his back and thud his tail on the floor in pain. One of his silky hands reached up and grabbed Sherlock’s left. Sherlock looked down at it, surprised in Johns complete change of character but said nothing and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Its okay, that was just unexpected. Continue.” Panted John squeezing his eyes shut.  
Sherlock cleaned the rest of it as quickly as he could along with some of the deeper scratches, reassuring John with small squeezes of his hand the whole time. When it was done he carefully bandaged it up and cleaned the rest of the blood off John’s body. At some point during the process John had become unconscious again. He picked up the small limp form with ease and carried him upstairs to his bed. It was large and currently the only made up bed in the house and so he placed John on one side and climbed into the other himself. He lay staring at John way into the early hours of the morning, millions of questions whirring around his head. He hoped with his whole being John would make it through the night. The tiny amount of affection John had shown him was a large amount more than usual. He could really use a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you guys liked it. still not too sure where this is going, or if its going to be johnlock (it probably will) but I thought I would throw in a little bit of fluff in there anyway just for good measure. I will try my hardest to update as regularly as possible. remember to comment if you liked it, or even if you didn't and let me know what you think as It would be much appreciated. also kudos = very happy me so please leave them if you deem this worthy :) thank you :)


	3. Golden Eyes

When morning came it was John who awoke first. He stared at the ceiling watching the sunlight stream in through the open cottage window. He could hear strange musical noises outside which he guessed were land-birds. Why was he here? Then he remembered, the spear being thrown at him, sinking into his flesh, the agony that had ripped through his body. The beautiful human man cleaning his wounds, soothing him. His warm hand in his cold one. He rolled over slightly wincing at the pain in his shoulder and looked at Sherlock in awe. His sleeping face was relaxed and calm, a halo of black curls framing his pale skin. Pink lips slightly parted.

Merpeople are naturally cold blooded so for John to be warm like this, in the same bed as Sherlock, felt incredible. He tried to wriggle closer to Sherlock, to garner some more of that delicious warmth. He rested his head on his saviour’s side, draping an arm over his chest, pressing their bodies as close together as he could. He was burning hot and it felt incredible. He soon fell back asleep, he knew he should be frightened but he was not. For some inexplicable reason he trusted Sherlock.

When Sherlock awoke he felt cold. He looked down and smiled as he saw the way in which John had attempted to cuddle him. He looked a lot better than he had last night. Sherlock picked up the small hand which lay on his chest and examined the delicate webs which spanned between his fingers. In the light he could see that John had small patches of golden scales on his elbows, cheeks and forehead. Very carefully he extracted himself from the merman’s embrace and went down-stairs to hang his coat out on the line and get some breakfast for John.

When John awoke again the burning warmth which was Sherlock was gone. But he still felt slightly warm. Strange. He went to roll over and screamed, his tail moved in two parts! He had legs! He flailed madly in his confusion and ended up becoming entangled in the sheets and falling off the bed. He landed on the floor with a loud thump and he howled in pain as he knocked his injured shoulder.

A scream rent through the small house. Sherlock started and sprinted up stairs to his room just in time to see John fall off the bed in a tangle of sheets and howl as he hit the floor. He struggled to free himself but could not.

“John, John are you okay? Look at me John.” Sherlock asked as he rushed over and began untangling him.

John looked up at Sherlock an incredulous look on his face, his eyes had changed colour and become as golden as his tail.

“I-I have legs.”

Sherlock fully untangled John at that moment and gasped, his legs were covered in smooth golden scales as his tail had been and his toes were long and webbed. That wasn’t the only thing he had gained from the transformation either, Sherlock looked away in embarrassment. Johns face he noted was now devoid of scales.

“John, your eyes, they are golden.”

“What is happening to me.” Marvelled John as he examined his web-free hands and ran them over his scale-less face.

Sherlock helped him to his new-found feet and John wobbled unsteadily and took a few cautious steps before collapsing. Sherlock caught him and sat him on the bed. His gills were still there, noted Sherlock.

“Wait here” said Sherlock. 

He went to the next room and pawed around in an old cardboard box until he found what he was looking for. An old pair of baggy jeans from when Sherlock was a teenager and a t-shirt. He went back to his room and grabbed a pair of boxers and socks from his drawer. He held the pile of clothes out awkwardly to the merman without looking at his naked form.

“Um, you might want to put these on?”

John accepted the clothes and stared at them for a couple of seconds before deciding that the t-shirt must be for his legs and attempting to put it on them. Sherlock laughed , something he rarely did, and took the t-shirt off John and helped him put it on properly.

“Oh, thanks” John laughed along with Sherlock. 

“These go on your legs” said Sherlock passing John the boxers and trousers

It took him a while but when John finally managed to get the pants and trousers on Sherlock handed him the socks. 

“These seem very impractical.” 

Sherlock, who had been staring thoughtfully out the window, turned to look at John who was frowning at the socks on his hands. Sherlock burst out laughing again and helped John remove the socks from his hands, which were still a lot colder than the average humans, and put them instead on his feet. Sherlock stepped back and admired John.

“You could almost pass for a human now!”

“Really?”

“Yes well accept for your eyes, no human has gold eyes. We could probably pass off you gills for old scars.”

He looked pleased at that.

“I have always wanted to come to land,” breathed John, “funny how I only got the chance when-” His face fell and he trailed off.

Sherlock had not yet asked John about what had happened to him or anything about his autonomy, although he was dying too, as he sensed that wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. He wasn’t normally this sensitive about other people’s feeling he reflected, but John was different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. good bit of silly fluff really. it will get darker and more sexy at some point, maybe :3 and will also gain more plot hopefully in the next chapter. as always kudos = really happy me so please leave them if you think its worthy. Thanks for reading! Next Chapter hopefully tonight or tomorrow depending on how much art coursework I get done. :)


	4. Crime Scene

He helped John downstairs on his unsteady feet and sat him at the table. He wasn’t sure what he should feed John but figured he should give him some normal human food to try and that, as it was Johns first ever taste of it, should most definitely not, be cooked by Sherlock. He was just about to ask John if he was up to going out to the café over the road when   
there was a knock at the door.

“Shit that will be Lestrade!” Exclaimed Sherlock.

John looked panicked,

“What about my eyes!”

“Wait here a second.”  
Sherlock sprinted upstairs and found a pair of sunglasses which had belonged to Mycroft a long time ago, sprinted back downstairs and put them on Johns face.

“Here that will cover them for now until we can get you some contacts.”

“Okay”

“Best put this on too.”

Sherlock hastily wrapped one of his spare scarves around his neck to cover the gills. Lestrade probably wouldn’t pry but it was best to be safe.

“Sherlock, can I come in?” Lestrades voice could be heard muffled through the door sounding mildly annoyed to be kept waiting.

Sherlock strode over and opened the door, giving Lestrade one of his toothless false smiles and holding the door open for him.

“Thank you. Sherlock there has been a body and we need you to come in immediately.”  
A tall middle-aged man with nut-brown skin and silver hair walked bowlegged into the room with his hands deep in his pockets. He hadn’t yet noticed John, who was staring at him with a look of intense curiosity with his head cocked slightly to one side, a slightly worried look on his face.

“Lestrade, have I introduced you to my friend John?”   
Lestrade raised his eyebrows slightly at the word ‘friend’ but said nothing and looked when Sherlock gestured to where John was sat at the table. He walked over and held out his hand to John smiling warmly.

“Nice to meet you John I’m Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.”  
John stared at the Lestrade’s proffered hand, and then at Sherlock who was attempting to mime shaking hands behind Greg’s back. John touched Lestrade’s outstretched hand who immediately grasped it in a firm handshake.

“N-nice to meet you too.” Smiled John, flashing now only slightly pointy teeth.  
If Lestrade was surprised by the temperature of Johns hand or the musical lilt to his voice he didn’t show it, Instead he returned his attention to Sherlock.

“Will you come Sherlock?”

“Not right away I need to get John some Breakfast. Text me the address and John and I will be there by twelve.”

“Sherlock it’s a crime scene you can’t bring your friend!”

“Then I won’t come.” Stated Sherlock resolutely.  
It pained him to even think of not going but there was no way he could leave John by himself just yet. Lestrade scowled.

“Fine. You better be there are lives at stake Sherlock!”  
He let himself out with a huff and closed the door using perhaps a bit more force than necessary.  
Sherlock huffed and John looked puzzled. 

“What is it that you do?”

“I am a consulting detective, the only one in the world, I invented the job.”  
Seeing John’s even more confused face he deigned to explain further.

“It means that when there a mystery, to do with crime, I go and help the other detectives to figure out what happened.”

“Right.”

“Do you have jobs under the sea? What do you do?”  
Sherlock knew he was straying dangerously close to where John might not want to go but he was desperate to know even the smallest things about their culture and infrastructure.

“I was the medicine man for our warriors, whilst also being a warrior myself.”

Sherlock restrained himself from asking further questions asked instead if John was up to going to the café over the road.

“Well yes but I’m no great shakes at walking yet.”

“Oh yes of course. It isn’t far and I will help you over. You will have to borrow some of my old shoes until we can get some that fit you though.”

After breakfast, which Sherlock didn’t eat, at the café (John loved human food) they called a cab to the seaside town of Penzance, there Sherlock bought John a lot of clothes, a walking stick and some smart shoes and waited whilst he got changed in the toilets. The crime scene also happened to be in Penzance and so they made their way there directly after. Just before they crossed the thresh hold they were stopped by a dark skinned lady with violently curly hair.

“Stop there freak. Who’s sunglasses?”

“This is my friend John. John this is Sargent Donovan.” Sherlock spoke her name with as much distain as humanly possible.

“Friend?!” Sally looked a bit incredulous.

“Hi I’m John.” He proffered his hand remembering meeting Lestrade.

“Sally Donovan.” She shivered slightly at John’s cold hand and frowned at his voice.  
Before she had chance to ask him where he came from Lestrade was shouting at Donovan to let them through. She scowled but did as she was told.

“There you are Sherlock, John. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come! The body is in here. It was found at eight this morning by an old fella walking his dog.”

They turned the corner, the body of a middle aged man was lying in a puddle of dried blood by the sea wall. A spear buried in his left shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry this is a bit late. I'm drowning in Art coursework. Thanks for all your support I can't tell you how happy it makes me seeing that people are reading and enjoying my story. I hope you enjoy this bit. its gradually getting more gritty so yeah I hope you like that aspect of it. Again kudos = happy me, (like seriously chuffed) so please leave them if its worthy. I love talking to you to and hearing your feedback so that's always welcome. Would like to know if people want eventual johnlock smut out of this or not? because im not sure yet but there probably will be :) next update with in the next couple of days. possibly tomorrow :)


	5. Truth

John gasped and grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder for support as his walking stick clattered to the floor. Sherlock glanced at John who had turned as white as a sheet. Sherlock’s huge brain instantly made the connection. The dead man was wounded in the exact same place as John had been. He stooped to pick up Johns cane and passed it to John who leaned on it gratefully.

“John tell me later.” 

“Okay.”

Lestrade looked puzzled but didn’t ask any questions. Donovan however was not as un-intrusive.

“Oi freak does your ‘friend’ here know something?!”

“Don’t call him that.” John spoke quietly but with a tone that was somewhere between pleading and extreme anger.

“Well do you?” Demanded Sally.

“No I don’t.” John looked away from her and stared intently at the grey sea.

Donovan narrowed her eyes as John's sideways profile gave her a brief glimpse of his eyes. She gasped but then quickly recovered her composure. Her reaction was not missed by Sherlock who paled considerably, if such a thing was even possible with his already pale complexion. Quickly he began to rattle off his deductions to Lestrade so him and John could get out of there as soon as.

“The man was in his late forties. Married obviously, but as with the woman in pink, has a string of lovers. This would suggest he was a businessman as to sustain such a fluid love life you must be constantly on the move, and his expensive suit and shoes leave no other plausible lines of work. As he is a travelling businessman obviously can’t be working for any local businesses. His suit is extraordinarily expensive, that sort of money can’t be found in any other travelling businesses except energy.”

Sherlock, who had been tapping furiously at his iPhone the entire time, held it up triumphantly.

“A quick google shows that a wind farm is due to be developed in this area. This man is Daniel Bauer an employee of Atlantic Array wind turbines.”

“Fantastic!” Exclaimed John grinning.

“Really, you think so?”

“Yes of course, utterly brilliant.”

Sherlock grinned, a slight tint colouring his pale cheeks.

“Ahem. Thanks Sherlock that’s most useful.”Interupted Lestrade awkwardly.

“John and I will be going now.”

“Er yes of course. I will inform you when I get the results back from forensics.”

“Thanks Lestrade. Laterz!”

Greg rolled his eyes and watched as the lithe form strode off, with the shorter figure that was John following behind. Sherlock stopped to hold the crime scene tape up for John to walk under, then was gone.

As they were out of sight and out of earshot Johns calm composure crumbled away. Sherlock was forcefully reminded that he had suffered a near fatal injury not 48 hours ago. 

“What is it John? Please tell me.”

“I- lets sit here it’s a long story.” He gestured at a pile of rocks bordering the beach.

Once they had walked over and sat there John began again. His face was pale. He looked like he wanted to cry but he was a soldier, he was strong.

“That human, he-he was killed by the same person who attempted to kill me. But I guess you knew that already. The merman who tried to kill me is named Jim Moriarty. Well I say he tried to kill me, he ordered another to do it for him. His name is Moran. He tried to kill me because I opposed their schemes. They learnt of a plan to build the Atlantic Array and they were furious. Moriarty stirred the people and via a system of spies and puppets managed to brainwash them all into thinking the best way to stop this from happening is to kill the humans responsible. We are already at War under the sea with some of the other oceans, we do not need another. Not many Mermen are like me. They despise humans as we used to predate you a couple of hundred years ago. But you became too powerful and so we were forced to go into hiding completely. We receded into myths and legends. Moriarty wants a war so he can return to a world where mermen once again prey on humans. These deaths and disappearances are just the beginning.”

John looked sad and hadn’t once made eye contact with Sherlock the entire time. He was afraid he would reject him he realised. Nervously he reached out and awkwardly put his hand on Johns shoulder. Comforting and human interaction wasn’t really one of his strong points. To his relief John appeared to visibly relax at his touch and the strong muscles on his shoulders un-tensed.

“Moriarty and I used to study humans at a distance in our spare time when we were younger, I was fascinated by them. We were best friends then. I don’t know how he went so wrong.”

“How did you survive when Moran tried to kill you.” 

“I’m not entirely sure. Luckily I saw him before he threw it and I put up a fight. He threw it at me and it narrowly avoided all the important stuff. I got it out of my chest and threw it right back at him. He is dead now. I can’t remember what happened after that, the next thing I remember was when I regained consciousness briefly on the beach and saw you. I am practically outlawed. Returning home would mean certain death for me.”

A solitary tear slid down his cheek. Annoyed he wiped his hand angrily across his cheek getting rid of it, wincing as the movement jolted his shoulder.

“Come on John. You can stay with me as long as you want.”

John smiled weakly as Sherlock helped him up and hailed a cab back to the cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it. Trying to keep it balanced. not too much serious not too much fluff. penzance is a real place as is the rocks by the beach just encase you are wondering. so is the café if I didn't say that in previous notes. Thanks for being wonderful. Kudos = happy me next update within the next couple of days. :)


	6. Something more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes, you guessed it, porn. and a bit of fluffy crack really. I'm sorry. I had to do it. I am also sorry for the ridiculously long break between the last update. I broke my laptop charger and could get a new one for over a month and have felt lazy and uninspired since. Please except my excuses, mediocre porn and extra-long-by-my-standards chapter as an apology. I'm not very good at writing porn having little experience in the matter and all I have learned about gay sex has come from reading fanfiction so I'm sorry if it is completely awful. If its not please enjoy remember any form of interaction with you and kudos makes me happy as I love to know what you thought of it. :) I don't have a beta or anything so as per all mistakes are mine etc. feel free to point any glaring ones out.

Sally Donovan, despite Sherlock’s constant proclamations, was not stupid. She knew what she had seen and had been desperately trying to rationalise it ever since. Strange theories and stupid thought kept popping up in her mind and she firmly brushed them away. She began to think that maybe she had imagined it after all. Those sort of things were just not possible after all. 

After having dinner at the pub down the road they walked back to the cottage, John tripping and stumbling on the dirt track still as yet unused to walking. Suddenly he tripped over a particularly big rock and fell over, howling as the impact jarred his shoulder.

“John, John are you okay?” worry tainted Sherlock’s deep baritone as he spoke, rolling John gently on to his back.

“I-I’m fine.” Hissed John, his eyes scrunched in pain, face tinged slightly pink with embarrassment.

Gently Sherlock scooped him up into his arms and off the floor. John tensed at the unexpected touch but soon relaxed into the comforting warmth of Sherlock’s body. By the time they reached the cottage John, exhausted as he was from the days events and his injury, had passed out against Sherlock’s chest. After somehow managing to unlock the door and holding John with one arm he walked upstairs and placed the merman gently on his bed. Carefully he peeled of Johns clothes to his boxers using minimal skin on skin contact. He took a second to appreciate Johns tanned skin and firm muscles before he realised what he was doing and berated himself, however not being able to help how his eyes lingered on his golden scales as he did so. Carefully he tucked John under the covers, slipped off his own clothes and lay down beside him. He couldn’t be bothered to make up another bed for himself, and if he was honest he liked being this close to someone, accustomed as he was to living and sleeping alone. 

A couple of weeks went by and no further progression came about on the case. Lestrade was surprised that Sherlock hadn’t worked it out already and was being so uncharacteristically unstressed about it. (He of course didn’t know that Sherlock had already figured it out/ been told what had been going on weeks ago and couldn’t tell him without sounding mad or outing John, neither of which he was willing to do). That John, he decided, had been very good for Sherlock. He was very odd though. He had a strange accent and phrased things odd occasionally, not to mention the fact he never took his sunnies off. He was a good chap though and Greg rather liked him.

Sherlock and John didn’t see Sally again during that time for which Sherlock was very relieved. The idiot would soon forget what she had seen, or rationalise it to a trick of the mind or the light. He spent the time being delightfully un-bored showing John about, and teaching him, everything he could think of about the world he lived in. Whenever they talked about medicine and human biology John listened fascinated and made Sherlock tell him everything he knew. In return John would tell him stories of his watery world. Describing buildings and cities in vivid detail. Telling him of the politics and traditional laws that ruled their culture. Sherlock lapped up every detail, eager to learn as much as he could about the place which his friend had come from, confident that a few, if non humans had ever been told about and feeling extremely privileged.

Johns wound was almost half healed, his recovery rate being much quicker than that of a normal humans. His walking skills had improved dramatically and he no longer needed the assistance of the cane to get about. One night as they lay side by side in bed Sherlock finally blurted out a question he had wanted to ask for ages. 

“John could I please examine your scales.” 

“I- erm, yeah okay sure.” John sounded confused at the proposal but agreed anyway.

In a flash the covers had been peeled back from his body, the light snapped on and Sherlock had procured his portable magnifying glass out of somewhere and was bent over Johns calves and feet staring intently at them. It happened so quickly it seemed absurd and John couldn’t help breaking down into giggles, causing his friend to look up at him confused.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing.” Chuckled John, the look on his friends face making him laugh harder. “How long have you been wanting to ask?”

“Since I first found you.” Admitted Sherlock, a faint blush tinging his ludicrously sharp cheekbones pink.

John’s laughter gradually subsided until Sherlock was examining his scales in silence again. Sherlock put away his magnifying glass and curiously extended one long pale finger and gently stroked a couple of the golden scales curious as to their density and texture. Stopping when John suddenly gasped and blood flooded to his cheeks. Even though he knew he shouldn’t Sherlock couldn’t help doing it again, watching in fascination as Johns eyes darkened with arousal at the simple delicate touch of his finger and groaned as he wrapped a large hand around thigh and squeezed gently. Slowly he dragged his hand down Johns leg, causing the silky scales there to ripple under the pressure. Sherlock felt himself begin to get turned on at the gorgeous sight of the wonderful little creature groaning and panting, slowly coming undone from the simplest of touches. Interesting that the scales should be so sensitive. The thought was soon abandoned as John keened and Sherlock let his arousal take control. He crushed his lips against John, dominating the small man and grinding their half hard cocks together through their boxers, caging him in with his arms either side of him. John groaned into Sherlock lips at the unexpected turn of events and tried to kiss back. He kissed like a teenager who had no idea what they were doing and Sherlock found it inexplicably endearing. The friction of both their cocks rubbing together felt heavenly but Sherlock needed something more. 

“Can.. can I touch you?” Sherlock begged, breaking the kiss.

John could do little more than pant and nod enthusiastically. Elated Sherlock jumped of John, who barely had time to register the fact he had moved at all, before both of their pants were off and he was grinding and groaning against John in earnest again, trailing fingers reverently over his extraordinary body. Suddenly the smell of John and sex was too much to bear and Sherlock was overcome with an over-riding desire to mate with John and claim him as his own, vaguely wondering if that was a result of one of Johns various abnormalities.  
He stopped grinding as his wandering fingers found Johns cock. It was golden with tiny smooth scales everywhere but its head. Sherlock hummed in pleasure and took it into his mouth half way, pulling off as John groaned and thrusted unintentionally into his mouth.

“S-sorry Sherlock, I d-didn’t mean- ” 

Sherlock cut him off by swiftly swallowing his entire length, expertly supressing his gag reflex licking and sucking John until he had to come off to breathe. Reaching between Johns legs Sherlock was surprised to find that he seemed to have some sort of self-lubricating system. Teasingly he stroked the pad of his thumb around John’s entrance. This too was apparently extremely sensitive as John spewed a stream of profanities, many of them unknown to Sherlock, while mewling and begging, what for he didn’t know just anything. Smiling Sherlock plunged one finger inside of John, eliciting whimpers from him that went straight to Sherlock’s cock. He added another and scissored John’s hole until he was sure he could accommodate Sherlock’s large girth. Removing his fingers Sherlock lined the blunt head of his dick up with Johns leaking hole, allowing him to feel his size. Johns eyes widened but he pleaded with Sherlock to fill him and quickly. Slowly he pushed into the smaller man, groaning in a deep baritone as the velvety heat enveloped him, concentrating very hard on not burying himself to the balls in John in one hard thrust. He looked up at John, checking everything was okay. The blonde had his head thrown back in pleasure and was such a gorgeous sight. At the same time that Sherlock’s balls rested in the cleft of the mermans arse crack John yelped and let loose another stream of foreign profanities as Sherlock’s cock brushed against his prostate.

“Oh god, Sherlock- you- so deep, S-Sherlock p-please move.” John babbled almost incoherently. Sherlock was only to eager to comply, withdrawing his cock so only the head remained inside him before thrusting in balls deep again, striking Johns prostate with unerring accuracy. John groaned, lost in a delicious haze of pleasure. Soon they had a punishing rhythm going and Sherlock had to hold Johns legs to stop him sliding over the mattress. It wasn’t that long before Sherlock felt his balls tighten and the heat pool in his stomach. He began to stroke John in time with his thrusts to ensure they came together. With one last thrust of his hips Sherlock buried himself as deep inside John as possible and came with a shout, pulling John over the edge with him. He saw stars as his body convulsed with the most earth shattering orgasm of his life and he shot spurt after spurt of cum deep inside of John. Johns own semen painted Sherlock chest with slashes of white as his small body trembled underneath the larger man, who promptly collapsed boneless, on top of him, just about conscious enough to avoid Johns wound.

“That was-”

“Absolutely incredible?” suggested John, pointy teeth flashing in a stunning smile.

“Yeah, something like that.” Sherlock grinned happily down at John, maneuvering himself so that he could cuddle his lover better. John winced as Sherlock’s overly large cock slid out of his abused and dripping hole and snuggled in to him, contentedly running his fingers through his ridiculous humans chaotic black curls until his hand stilled and they both fell asleep.

They woke with a start the next morning, jumping at the shrill ring and buzz of Sherlock’s phone on the bedside table. Sherlock groaned and rolled over to retrieve it, unruly curls sticking out at an odd angle from his head. He picked up the phone narrowing his eyes to take a better look, it was 11:34, he normally woke up at ten at the latest. Lestrade was on the phone, grumbling to himself he answered it. Another incident to do with a case he couldn’t solve. Great.

“Where.” He drawled groggily.

“Sennen, be here ASAP.” Lestrade sounded stressed and worried. Must be pretty bad then. It took a lot to rattle the D.I.

Sherlock put the phone down, and turned to wake John who was again sleeping peacefully, a small smile dancing across his lips.  
“John, wake up. Lestrade called, we have a crime scene to go to.”

Just under an hour later and the taxi pulled up at Sennen Cove and dropped them near the crime scene. Sherlock strode over briskly, with John almost jogging behind him to keep up. Sherlock waited at the crime scene perimeter and lifted the tape for the smaller man eyeing the body on the other side. The scene was much the same as last time, the body spread eagle in a pool of blood with a spear buried deep in the left shoulder. This time it was a woman, her smart business wear stained with blood and dirt. Probably a replacement for   
Daniel Bauer.

A small group of people stood around the woman, taking pictures and samples as evidence. Donovan and Lestrade were among them and Anderson was on forensics. He groaned inwardly. Anderson was an idiot and hated him more than most and the feeling was entirely mutual. They all looked up as John and Sherlock joined them. Sally Donovan’s eyes widened and determination flickered across her face. Before Sherlock could do anything she lunged at John, knocking him to the ground, straddling his chest and pulling her gun, levelling it between his eyes. 

“I’ve been doing a bit of research.”


	7. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like, sorry for the delay, and happy new year to everyone for tomorrow! :) apologies for any mistakes, as usual they are all mine and they might be more frequent than usual as it is quite late now. I think I might have used some stupid punctuation but couldn't think of what else could replace it. Tinsy bit angsty and Sherlock is possessive ;) <3

“JOHN!”

Sherlock started forward terror in his eyes and was stopped by a warning glance from Donovan, who shifted the gun slightly to remind him of his situation. Visibly seething with anger he stopped in his track and took a step back.

“Sally, what on earth are you doing?” demanded Lestrade.

As an answer she reached down and ripped John sunglasses from his face, who closed his eyes as soon as he realised what she was about to do.

“Open them,” demanded Sally, “open your eyes and show them what a freak you are.”

John stiffened underneath her at the insult. Hurt and sadness flickering across his face. Donovan didn’t appear to notice however and kept the gun cocked and pointing at his head. John slumped, resigned. Ever so slowly he opened his eyelids and kept his beautiful golden eyes trained at the sky, amid the gasps and confused muttering of the forensic team and detectives.

“Right everyone accept from Sherlock and Anderson leave. Now!”

The gathered crowd reluctantly dissipated under Lestrade’s instruction, accompanied by many whispered conversations and backward glances.

“Okay Donovan what is the meaning of this? John has golden eyes so what?! I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for… John’s condition.” Lestrade spoke levelly and soothingly. Trying to coax some rationality out of her and get her to lower her gun.

“Sally please just let him go, you are hurting him!”

Sally looked round at the sound of Sherlock plea as it was so out of character, and looked into his panic stricken face. This was the largest amount of meaningful emotion that she had ever seen him express. A lot more than she had thought the self-diagnosed sociopath was capable of emitting. Strange. Looking back down at John she could see he was telling the truth. He had gone very pale and his pointy teeth were gritted in pain as he continued to stare blankly at the sky. Slowly she stood up, keeping her gun carefully trained on him. John hissed in pain, and remained lying limply on the ground. 

“Stand up.” Growled Sally, positioning herself so that John was between her and the others but not so directly so that if she shot John and missed, it would hit one of them. 

He did so straightening himself out slowly and fluidly, careful not to antagonise his once again hurting wound, any further, and training his unerring golden eyes on Donovan.

“The spears, your eyes, it all matches up John. It was you who committed these murders. I know it. I just need one last piece of evidence to confirm it. If you would just take off your trousers, merman.” Her tone was polite, friendly almost. Her eyes were anything but.

“SALLY!” exclaimed Lestrade, “what on earth are you talking about?! Have you gone mad?!”

“Its okay John,” murmured Sherlock, “just do it I have no doubt that she will hurt you if you don’t.”  
Donovan ignored both of them and waited. John looked panicked and glanced at his lovers face for support. He couldn’t believe it had all gone so wrong, life was finally going his way and it was going to be ruined all because of what he was. The thought brought tears to his eyes but no, he was a warrior, he would not cry in front of this horrible human female.

Slowly he unbuckled his belt and let his baggy jeans fall to the floor, keeping his eyes trained there as well, closely examining the tarmac. Lestrade and Anderson gasped in confusion and Sherlock looked mortified and enraged at the same time. His large pale hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. His icy eyes looking murderous and as if he wanted to cry. For once he had had someone who loved him and who he could love in equal measure. Someone who thought he was amazing and put up with his bullshit and annoying habits. He wasn’t about to let Donovan of all people destroy it. Take his fantastic, beautiful, intriguing John, away from him.

John stood in his plain white boxers with his golden scaled legs on full display, colour tinting his tan cheeks with embarrassment. That turned Sherlock’s rage into an inferno, John had no cause to be ashamed, he was a beautiful creature. Sherlock’s beautiful creature.

He moved like lightening and, whilst she was distracted with Johns legs, leapt across the gap separating them and planted himself squarely in front of the merman, directly blocking Donovan’s line of fire and obscuring the smaller man from her view. 

“Pull up your trousers John.”

He quickly complied, swiftly hiding his golden legs from sight.

“John is not the murderer. He was almost a victim himself, John show them your wound.”  
The small man pulled his cream jumper off from over his head, swiftly followed by his t-shirt, to reveal a smooth tanned and muscled torso largely marred by a vicious wound on his left shoulder. Pale golden scales blended into his skin around his hips and up to about an inch and a half below his belly button. Self-consciously he pulled his trousers up and tried to hide them. Sherlock frowned slightly at the action but continued.

“I found him washed up on Penvounder the night I travelled down from London, severely injured and bleeding profusely. He had been the victim of an attempted assassination because he was trying to prevent the very murders you accused him of. Since then I have been with him 24/7. Even if he was lying to me about the circumstances of his injury, which I know he was not, there is still no possible way he could have had any involvement in the murders.”

Sally lowered her gun and dropped it to the floor, Lestrade and Anderson stood speechlessly staring at Johns wound and Sherlock, mouths wide open and moving like fish trying to think of something coherent to say. Sherlock gently embraced John, who leaned in to it gratefully, and stared daggers at them all daring them to say anything stupid and insensitive.

At that moment a black van skidded round the corner and ground to a halt. Several armed men wearing gas masks jumped out and threw a couple of gas spewing canisters into the midst of them. It was chaos. Immediately Sherlock began to feel the effects and fought desperately as John was torn from his arms, a black bag shoved over his head, bare tan arms tied roughly behind his back and shoved into the waiting van. He began to sag from the drug’s effects and was tossed on to the floor as the men who had been fighting him followed John into the van, slammed the door and sped off. Sherlock just had time to whisper Johns name and memorise the number plate as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

The moment Sally had seen the awful wound she knew that it could not have been him. Her face had paled and filled with guilt. She had subjected a perfectly innocent… creature to god knows what.


End file.
